


Come Up And See Me Sometime

by Goober



Series: Freaks and Geeks [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Clothed Sex, Exhibitionism, Humor, M/M, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Smoking, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26176444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goober/pseuds/Goober
Summary: “It’s not a crime to sit on some steps, is it, Mayor?”The overly innocent bat of his eyes is met with a roll of the ghoul’s. This is the third time he’s been in — and been harassed in — Goodneighbor and Hancock is already growing sick of his shit.
Relationships: John Hancock/Male Sole Survivor
Series: Freaks and Geeks [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1029650
Comments: 2
Kudos: 63





	Come Up And See Me Sometime

**Author's Note:**

> Back on my Fallout bullshit again, featuring Haydn

His breath comes uneven from his freshly re-broken nose, blood dripping into his cocked grin as his cheek burns beneath the forming bruise. Haydn leans against the wall, brick digging into his lower back and shoulders as he raises his arms in mock surrender. The two Neighborhood Watchmen look less than amused at his display, one raising the butt of his rifle again, something on his tongue before a voice catches their collective attentions.

“What’s this?”

Haydn peeks behind the second guard to watch Hancock come down the alleyway towards them. He watches Hancock’s black eyes raise from Haydn’s bloody nose, up to his eyes. Haydn shrugs, a crooked smile on his lips before he sees the corners of Hancock’s wrinkled face pull into a small grin.

“He was hangin’ around this warehouse door for a while; think I saw him tryin’ to pick the lock,” the Watchman with the raised rifle says. “Not even subtle about it, broad fuckin’ daylight he tries to pull one over us.”

“It’s not a crime to sit on some steps, is it, Mayor?”

The overly innocent bat of his eyes is met with a roll of the ghoul’s. This is the third time he’s been in — and been harassed in — Goodneighbor and Hancock is already growing sick of his shit.

“Shut it,” a guard snaps, before turning to her boss. “I didn’t see anything, but this has casing written all over it, sir.”

Hancock sighs, crossing his arms as he says, “I dunno, kid, maybe a night under the State House would do you some good.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Haydn grimaces, another wave of blood rushing from his nostrils as he lifts a hand to apply pressure.

Hancock’s long sigh is likely audible into the courtyard as he says, “He’s not the kind of trouble we’re lookin’ for. Right now.” The last bit is thrown Haydn’s way with a small narrow in his non-existent brow.

The Watchmen give one final double glare to Haydn, their warning lost on the thumbs up he returns them. They turn and head out with a grumble, and it’s only when they’re out of sight that Haydn relaxes his spine, tension released from his shoulders as he rubs his cheek. Blood still trickling over his lips as he looks up at Hancock as the Mayor approaches him and hovers above him.

“You know you can enter the city without antagonizing my men, right?” Hancock asks sternly, pulling a pack of cigarettes from a pocket within his thick coat. He shakes it, pulls one out of the pack with his teeth before lighting it with a smooth motion with a gold enameled lighter.

“Where’s the fun in that?” A beat, “Why  _ is _ this shit locked anyway?”

“Hell if I know,” Hancock says, in a way that suggests he definitely knows. He moves to Haydn’s right, sitting himself down beside the wastelander before offering over the cigarette.

“You know, I get the idea your Mayoral skills leave a little to be desired,” Haydn teases, before inhaling a lungful of smoke.

Hancock laughs. “Think you can do a better job, hotshot?”

“Me? Lead anyone?” Haydn passes the cigarette back, breathing out smoke between his teeth, “That’d be something to see.”

“Not much of a leader?”

Haydn shakes his head, “Usually better followin’ orders than givin’ them.”

“What brings you back in town this time?” Hancock asks, taking a long drag.

Haydn shrugs, “Lookin’ for work.”

“Got tired a’ causin’ trouble with Raiders?” Hancock flicks the end of the cigarette, pausing in his thoughts. “There’s somethin’ weird going on at the old art gallery up north, rumours of someone going after raiders. Wouldn’t normally worry about something like that, but something that close isn’t the best news.”

Haydn leans back, “Heard something like that too, I’ll try to check it out when I have time.”

He thinks of Pickman then, hip itching. He’s going to have to pay another visit.

“Aside from that, Whitechapel Charlie is always dishing out odd jobs,” Hancock continues like Haydn hadn’t completely clocked out do dwell on memory.

“I think I may have something lined up, anyway,” Haydn shrugs.

Bobbi’s probably halfway to Diamond City by now, and if she expects him to run there immediately like a well trained dog, she’s going to be sorely disappointed. How she’s even going to get into the city is beyond him, but he’ll find out sooner or later.

“Well, while you’re here you’re welcome to stay in the State House,” Hancock says casually. 

“Oh yeah?”

Hancock chuckles, “Don’t get the wrong idea, kid. Everyone can stay there.”

“With you, how can I not?” He asks, a grin tight on his teeth as he looks over to the ghoul.

The way Hancock’s eyes run across his muscles is not lost on him as Haydn stands, and maybe Haydn’s not the only one with wrong ideas. “Lead the way, then.”

It’s not a long walk; commotion around them and looks half shot their way as they slip through the streets and up to the doors of the State House. 

The climb up the winding stairs is met with stares and glares from the various Watchmen keeping guard. The guard who broke Haydn’s nose turns his face away as the pair passes by.

The minute his feet hit the landing Haydn nearly walks into someone.

His eyes travel up from her broad shoulders to her face, where narrowed, annoyed eyes pierce down at him. She’s imposing; all muscle and force, standing a good head and shoulders above Haydn as he freezes in place.

She’s a bombshell, even he can appreciate that.

Haydn rapidly steps out of her way, earning a side grin from the woman as she looks past him to Hancock.

“Don’t forget we have business to discuss.”

Hancock chuckles behind him, “Wouldn’t miss it.” He nudges the small of Haydn’s back, pushing the wastelander forward.

The woman rolls her eyes but says no more, Haydn moves out of her way and she does not look at him as she passes.

When she’s well out of earshot and they’ve crossed the last few steps to Hancock’s office Haydn turns to Hancock and says, “Well, she seems ...” He gestures vaguely to his face with a stern expression.

Hancock chuckles, “Don’t take it personal, I’m the only one in town Fahrenheit can stand.”

Haydn looks around the room — a simple layout complete with a desk, a couch, some chairs, and scattered containers of Jet and Mentats.

When he looks back to Hancock he finds the ghoul watching him, a light smile on his face for a moment, before he waves Haydn to the couch. “Have a seat, be comfortable.”

Haydn unstraps his sledge from his back holster, lowers it until the harder than concreate head bangs against the wooden floor with an echo. His pack falls beside it, as quick hands pull at the buckles and straps of his armor. He’s going to be here a minute, so he may as well take the invitation to relax.

Hancock slides into the space beside Haydn the moment the wastelander sits, removed of his guard. And his boots, as Haydn toes out of them. The ghoul reaches forward, plucks a tin off the table before them.

Mentats; just about the only thing Haydn  _ doesn’t _ take. They’re supposed to help people’s minds function clearer, letting them problem solve faster. Not that Haydn’s brain works the fastest as it is.

“Never really go for those,” Haydn says as Hancock offers him the tin. As Hancock moves to take the tin back for himself, Haydn quickly adds, “But tryin’ one out’s not gonna kill me.”

Hancock chuckles, “Famous last words, brother.”

All the same Hancock pulls a soft purple colored tab from the container, holding it in front of Haydn, who feels his face flush. “Open up,” Hancock says, clearly enjoying the way Haydn flusters for a moment.

Haydn opens his mouth a little, following Hancock’s lead as the ghoul reaches out to hold Haydn’s chin and pull his mouth open wider. Haydn’s tongue falls over his lip, curled a bit to hold the tablet in place as Hancock nestles it against the muscle.

“Let it dissolve,” Hancock advises, taking two tabs from the tin himself.

The berry flavor isn’t bad; present, without being overwhelming. Haydn feels it melt rapidly in his mouth, and it’s difficult to stop himself from talking while the Mentat takes effect. He closes his eyes for a moment. A wave of euphoria rushing over him rapidly as the chems take effect far too fast for his comfort.

When he opens his eyes to ask Hancock if this is normal, he has to blink. A radiant aura radiates from Hancock, soft and translucent. Hardly there as anything but a suggestion on where Hancock’s shape rests beside him.

“Don’t panic,” Hancock says quickly, clearly reading the impending freak out on Haydn’s face. “That affect happens with these.”

“No wonder I never got into Mentats,” Haydn mumbles under his breath.

“Not all Mentats do this,” Hancock answers him, and Haydn realizes he was speaking louder than he intended. “Just this kind.” Hancock leans in a little, faces Haydn and rests an elbow on the back of the couch, hand hovering by Haydn’s head. “Thought you oughtta go all in if you’re gonna go in.”

“Feels like you’re suggesting more than chems, here,” Haydn says, lost in the swirl of Hancock’s pupil absent black eyes.

“And if I am?” Hancock leans closer, swallowing Haydn whole as the wastelander opens his mouth to answer, cut off by sudden pressure at his lips.

He tastes like cigarette smoke and chemicals, a combination that overwhelms his senses, leaving him wanting more.

Hancock’s hand grips the back of Haydn’s hair, pulling him forward into another kiss. It’s testing, Hancock’s firmer mouth pressing against Haydn’s lightly chapped lips, before Haydn presses back eagerly.

It grows more demanding as Hancock’s fingers tighten through Haydn’s hair, curling and pulling, drawing Haydn deeper. Haydn, unsure what to do with himself, reaches out and grips the lapels of Hancock’s coat to pull Hancock into him as though he could meld them together. The ghoul’s smirk against his lips makes Haydn’s heart hammer.

Hancock’s tongue teases at the split in Haydn’s lip, before it presses into the wastelander’s mouth. He explores with drags over Haydn’s tongue, his teeth, the insides of his cheeks. He returns to twirling his tongue with the wastelander’s and Haydn’s breathing hitches, unable to catch it back as he feels light in his stomach. 

Steady hands move Haydn’s body, turning him and breaking the kiss, before pushing him back against the cushions. Haydn leans back easily, one leg hanging off the edge of the couch as he pushes up a little on his elbows.

Hancock takes the opportunity to move in between Haydn’s legs, making Haydn spread his thighs to accommodate the ghoul. Hancock slings one of Haydn’s legs over his shoulder, spreading his hips more as the ghoul bends down to take Haydn’s lips again. Their teeth clack for a moment, drawing a nervous chuckle from Haydn before Hancock takes the chance to quiet him with his tongue again.

Hancock’s hand runs down Haydn’s body, over his pecs, down his stomach. Dull nails dig into Haydn’s abs, scraping over skin through the flannel.

When they part for breath Haydn laughs with what little air he has left, “Miss me or somethin’?”

Hancock grins, presses his thin lips to Haydn’s cheek, follows his cheekbone to rest his mouth at the wastelander’s ear. “Somethin’ like that.”

Haydn tells himself not to read into it. Someone like Hancock has definitely had more than his fair share of bodies warming his bed — or, well, couch — and Haydn’s brain is quickly shutting off for the day as Hancock’s hand trails lower.

Fingers brush over the bulge at the front of his jeans, and Haydn tenses for a moment.

Hancock feels around the bulge, testing its softness, the way it moves pliantly in silence. A hundred different explanations boil in Haydn’s chest, but he opts to wait for Hancock’s lead.

The ghoul doesn’t remove his hands, instead he moves away to watch himself unzip Haydn’s zipper, undoing his belt just after. Slow and steady, both teasing Haydn and aggravating him, he tugs the pants down over Haydn’s hips to his thighs.

The bulge is contained in the flap of Haydn’s grey undewear, though a bit of the bundle of socks peeks through. Hancock tilts his head, considering. Then he chuckles. “Didn’t think purple was your color, brother.”

Haydn’s face heats up, “Fuck off, it’s the only pair they had left.” He starts to squirm, trying to move away before Hancock pins him down by his hips with a grin.

Hancock’s eyes fall down to Haydn’s chest, where his hands make quick work of the buttons running down the middle of his shirt.

With his chest bare to the room, Hancock pushes one end aside to reveal Haydn’s left pectoral muscle. Hancock’s leathery thumb runs along the scar beneath the muscle, the tip of his index finger following the much lighter one below Haydn’s nipple.

The other half of Haydn’s shirt is knocked from him to reveal the same line parallel to the opposite scar, and a thinner one that drags from sternum to the tip of his stomach.

Of course there are other scars; a few near misses from bullets, and a couple knicks from knives over the years. But these ones are obviously more meticulous, hand drawn into his skin.

Hancock blessedly does not comment on the marks as he instead leans forward to place a kiss against Haydn’s throat.

Haydn sighs, sensation in overdrive from the chems running through his system. He’s overly aware of the heat of his own skin, of the texture of Hancock’s tongue as the ghoul drags it down his neck, over his collarbone. The sharp scrape of teeth over his skin as Hancock moves down lower.

The tip of Hancock’s tongue dips into the divot in the middle of his right nipple and Haydn’s body shivers, a low, lustful sigh escaping him as the ghoul swirls his tongue around it. He arches up into the touch, breath hitching as he feels the heat of Hancock’s mouth close around his nipple, sucking on it.

Haydn’s not usually one for this kind of play, would have thought that the nerves would have been too stretched out in their re-arrangement on his chest. But under Hancock’s touch he finds he doesn’t mind it; the slick sensation sending chills through his spine long before the open air chills his skin as Hancock moves to lay a trail of open mouthed licks to his other pec.

The ghoul is meticulous in the way he delivers affection over Haydn’s body, damn near strategic. It’s enough to nearly make him forget that anyone could peek into the room and see them, the creaking of footsteps a floor below adding a danger to the mix that goes straight to Haydn’s dick.

A hand presses down on his abdomen, keeps him in place as Hancock’s fingertips ride down tan skin to rest at the edge of grey boxers.

Hancock pulls on the clothing in his way; dragging jeans and boxers down Haydn’s thighs. Haydn kicks them off shamelessly, and Hancock drops the clothes to the floor with a smile.

Hancock’s eyes eat down Haydn’s body, taking him in fully as he doesn’t hide the hunger behind the way he takes a thin lower lip between his teeth.

Hancock eyes the space between Haydn’s thighs. From his view Haydn can see his cock, swollen and red, sitting impatiently between the lips framing it. Red hair reaches down from halfway below his naval, stretching all the way over his crotch.

Muscular legs bend, pulling in as Haydn spreads them for Hancock’s view. “Like what you see?” He asks, in response to the staring.

The ghoul leans back a little, hands placed on Haydn’s hips to hold the wastelander in place. “Absolutely,” Hancock answers, cocksure and voice dripping with a hunger he hasn’t heard out of the ghoul before. Hancock reaches up and removes his tricorn hat, sets it aside and out of his way.

Black eyes move up to Haydn’s, and Haydn has to look away. He can’t handle the scrutiny as Hancock’s gaze eats through him. He’s too raw, like this. More exposed than he’s been in a long time, and he’s not thinking of the nudity.

“Then why don’t you do something about it?” Haydn grins as he looks back to the Mayor between his thighs.

Hancock chuckles, says nothing more as he brings his lips to the hollow of Haydn’s throat. He kisses in a straight, wet line down Haydn’s body, across his ribs and beside his belly button. All the way down to the coarse hair of his pubic bone, where Haydn sucks in a deep breath.

The ghoul’s eyes flick up again, as he hovers over Haydn’s aching cock, pushed down the couch until he is face to face with where Haydn desires him most.

A rough, cracked tongue slips from between harder lips as Hancock first breathes over the twitching sex organ before he drags the flat of his tongue over it. 

Haydn’s toes curl, caught breath burning in his chest as he arches up into the licks being laced over his cock. As Hancock lays into the pressure and slow, deliberate circles over Haydn, the wastelander twitches, teeth clenched around soft moans as he allows himself to feel the tingling ripples of pleasure wash over him.

The circles against his cock grow firmer, move quicker, before Haydn bites his lip as the tongue at his nerves drags flat over the organ as a whole. Haydn’s thigh shakes against his will, and he thinks for a moment to apologize before the words are lost to a sharp gasp as Hancock dives in for more.

Moments speed by under the direct, purposeful motions of Hancock’s tongue. Slick and wet; Haydn feels his body pressing up into Hancock’s mouth without realizing it, thighs stretching a little more as his muscles twitch in waves of building pleasure.

A tingling spreads through Haydn’s stomach, drips lower. He should feel a little bit of embarrassment at how quickly he’s definitely going to pop, but Haydn can’t bring himself to give a shit about anything other than how  _ good _ this feels.

“Fuck,” Haydn gasps, his first coherent sound in far too long. A hand comes to Hancock’s head, blunt nails occasionally digging into his bald skull.

Something presses against him, the tips of Hancock’s fingers. Haydn’s breath catches as he sees Hancock’s eyes raise to meet his, a questioning look on what Haydn can see of his face, still buried between Haydn’s thighs.

He nods, and that is all the consent Hancock needs to slide two fingers deep into Haydn’s body. Haydn bites his lip, feeling every knuckle of the ghoul’s fingers slip into him. The pressure is enough to satisfy him, for now. Haydn still greedily thinks of Hancock’s dick, wanting more than just two fingers filling him.

It’s when Hancock pumps them deeper into him that Haydn makes a loud, breathless moan. Between the tongue at his cock and the fingers dragging in and out of his body, the coiling pressure in his stomach travels down, tightens his insides around Hancock’s fingers.

He bares down on the feeling, a tingling sensation ripping through his body, intense at the motions around his cock. It doesn’t take long, in the end, as Hancock slips a third finger into him, thrusting roughly into his more than willing body.

His head swims from more than just the chems, body alight with sensation and desire. Haydn’s breath comes ragged, pushed from him harshly as he closes his eyes tight.

The coil in him snaps suddenly, and the only warning he can give Hancock is a breathless, “ _ Fuck! _ ” Haydn feels his body tense, back arching a bit as his toes curl almost painfully. The nails in Hancock’s head dig a bit, though Haydn at least has some sense not to gouge him. He feels himself clench and unclench around Hancock’s fingers, a rush of wetness making his face flush.

Hancock’s mouth pulls into a grin against him, and the feeling of the motion drives Haydn’s freshly oversensitive cock to sting. Hancock pulls away, removing his fingers from the tight grip of Haydn’s body. He pulls them to his lips, and Haydn watches his tongue lick over them as Hancock doesn’t break eye contact.

Haydn reaches out and grabs Hancock’s lapels harshly, dragging Hancock into a searing kiss, teeth clacking together at first before Haydn steadies himself. He slips his tongue between Hancock’s teeth as the ghoul’s rumbling laughter echoes against his chest.

“Thought I’d repay the favor,” Hancock grins, hands placed on either side of Haydn’s head against the arm rest.

“Well, you did,” Haydn laughs softly. “But, I think we can still do more.”

Hancock’s grin deepens as he moves to run a finger over Haydn’s still sensitive cock. “I can think of a few things I still want to do to you.”

“What’s stopping you?” He grins, hands moving to Hancock’s waist, stretching out to paw at his belt.

Hancock sits back, thighs strong and spread over Haydn’s form as he reaches down to assist. He pulls the buckle apart slowly, dragging the belt itself through each loop at a near agonizingly slow pace. Haydn’s self restraint and patience tested with each passing moment before the belt clatters to the floor.

The flap of parts easily as Hancock undoes the button, pulls his trousers and boxers down to his thighs, until they strain against him. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, thick and already beading at the tip, just from playing with Haydn.

“How do you want me?” Hancock asks, running his hands up Haydn’s thighs as he sits back, still clearly appreciating the sight beneath him.

“Any way you like,” Haydn hums, cockiness curling his lip. He reaches out and drags Hancock down into another kiss. “Just as long as I’m fucked out of my mind.”

Hancock grins against his lips, and adjusts himself between Haydn’s thighs, lining up with Haydn’s body as he leans over the wastelander. Elbows trapping Haydn in, Hancock captures his mouth again, all teeth and tongue.

A second wave of high hits Haydn by surprise. His senses kick into overdrive, and he gets a small feeling that he’s being observed by more than Hancock.

He waits as patiently as he can for Hancock to reach down and grab himself, cock rubbing against Haydn’s still sensitive dick, before pressing into the wastelander.

Haydn’s breath comes out harsh, unable to control the sound that comes from his throat. Hancock stretches him around his dick slowly, pushing into Haydn inch by inch until he rocks in hard, seating himself fully into Haydn.

A hand slides behind Haydn’s head, cradling his skull and twining his hair around rough fingers. Hancock leans in for a kiss, hips starting to move. Haydn can’t stop the way his breathing hitches, pressing his lips harder to Hancock’s.

It’s slow at first, testing. Hancock pushing deep into Haydn before withdrawing to the tip, teasing him with the near delicacy of the motions.

“Hancock,” Haydn groans, “ _ please. _ ”

Hancock’s hips stutter as he breathes out a small laugh. “Hearin’ you beg is something I could get used to,” he says. “Could tease you all day just to hear that voice call my name.”

Haydn huffs, inhaling sharply as Hancock presses deeper into him, hips moving a little harder. “Don’t get cocky,” Haydn manages to say, before his words are lost to another soft moan.

“Hard not to,” is all Hancock has to say, pressing his lips to Haydn’s neck. His breath stutters, hot against Haydn’s tingling skin, as Hancock starts to thrust harder.

Haydn bites his lip as each drag of Hancock’s pelvis over his cock makes him feel weak, hips spreading a little more to invite the new pace Hancock sets. His toes curl as Hancock’s dick slides in and out of his body, unable to catch his breath as Hancock starts fucking him more thoroughly.

His body feels alight beneath Hancock’s; the teeth at his neck, the stretch of his body accepting the quick drag of the ghoul’s cock, nerves aflame and overstimulated with the help of the chems.

Haydn’s nails dig into the fabric of Hancock’s coat, feeling the coarseness beneath his fingertips as he holds onto the ghoul like a lifeline.

He can hear Hancock’s breathing become ragged, clearly trying to concentrate on the pace he has set. For all his wordiness, he’s surprisingly quiet now; and Haydn has to wonder if his head is swimming with the same sensations.

“ _ Hancock _ .” The name traitorously ripped from Haydn without thinking, as the steady motions over his cock fill his gut with a tingling, longing sensation.

Hancock trails his lips and tongue up Haydn’s throat to press against Haydn’s lips. “Yeah?” He asks, smile curling between them. “What is it?”

Haydn would scowl if he had himself together, too far gone to find his usual snark. “You know exactly what it is,” he manages to huff. His face heats a bit as he bites his lip. He’s sure that without his loosened inhibitions he’d feel less needy, but as it is, he’s dripping with desire, and Hancock knows it.

He grips his fingers deeper into Hancock’s back, could indent gruff skin if there were not several layers between them.

“Spread your legs out, off my back,” Hancock says into his cheek, moving to nip at Haydn’s ear. He does so eagerly, gasping as the stretch welcomes the hard thrusts at a new angle. He keeps his legs on either side of Hancock’s hips, stretching as much as the couch will allow, feet hanging in the air. It’s a little hard to hold this pose with Hancock rocking into him, but he does, and Hancock grins against his ear.

“Now move your hands up, above your head.” Haydn obeys, one hand in his hair and the other gripping the end of the armrest. “Stay just like this,” Hancock says, a serious drip in his tone.

It’s the only warning Haydn gets before Hancock’s dick slams into him, much harder and more purposeful than before. Hancock is done teasing for now, it seems, and Haydn bites his lip around a stream of moans as Hancock drives into him.

The steady, fast, heavy motions on his cock drive Haydn wild. The drag of Hancock’s dick within him, filling him with every stroke, has him on edge. His head flips between sensation, unsure what to focus on, the clarity of the Mentats making everything enhanced.

He’s not going to last long at all, and he knows it, tries to bite down on the sensation before he is too far gone.

“Don’t push yourself,” Hancock’s voice drags him back to the moment; as he looks over to catch a pair of black eyes, glassy with desire and lust, looking back at him. “Let go, let me feel you.” Hancock all but nuzzles Haydn’s face in an all too sweet way for someone currently hellbent on fucking the Wastelander completely senseless.

Haydn tries to speak but his words come out as a sharp gasp, a flooding, overwhelming sensation waving through his guts. He tries to catch his breath, his composure, anything — but he ends up gripping his own hair to ground himself as much as he can.

He’s going to rip hair, but that doesn’t matter, unable to even control the strength of his own clenched fist as something in him breaks and the only thing he can do is whimper out a final, “ _ Hancock! _ ”

Hancock fucks him through it, presses Haydn down into the couch when his back arches, hips stuttering, right leg locking up with toes curled again. He grins against Haydn’s neck, teething at the skin with his own ragged breath coming from his flattened nostrils.

He comes wordlessly, but with a whine of his own, caught somewhere in his throat and dragged out. Haydn can’t see his face as he comes, buried now in his collarbone, but he can feel the way Hancock bites his own lip and that is just as good.

Hancock breathes heavy, steadies it slowly.

Haydn realizes he can put his legs down and makes a small sound of discomfort as he does, the ache in his hips both pleasant and unfortunate.

In a quick movement, still clearly frazzled post orgasm, Hancock pulls out of Haydn’s body and moves him to the side. Haydn nearly falls off the thin couch as Hancock slips behind him, before an arm reaches out to catch him.

Hancock’s arms wrap around his middle, pulling him close. He can still hear Hancock’s stuttered breathing and he takes it as a compliment, pushing back into the welcoming chest behind him. 

“Do you always cuddle after sex or am I special?” He asks.

Hancock laughs behind him, “Depends.”

Haydn smiles, but says nothing to that.

They lay in silence for a moment, still gathering themselves. Haydn seems to reach his clarity sooner as he says, “Wonder how long we’ve been’ fuckin’ for.” Then, “Bit irresponsible to be fuckin’ someone in your office. What if someone needed something?”

Again, Hancock’s laughter is comforting to hear. “Who knows how time works with Mentats.” He sits up a bit, “Isn’t it half the fun if someone walks in anyway?” Hancock looks down at him, eyes travelling across Haydn’s face.

“Maybe.” Haydn stretches, rolls his tight ankle, before sitting up. Hancock adjusts to give him as much room as he can grant on the small space. “You said somethin’ about staying at the State House earlier.”

Hancock huffs, “Wore you out already?”

“No, I just need a walk, and somethin’ to eat first. I’m probably headin’ out tomorrow on a gig I found.” Haydn reaches down for his clothes, standing on legs that thankfully do not feel as wobbly as his head does.

“Leaving so soon?” 

Haydn turns to see Hancock giving a playfully sad face, and he grins. “I’ll come back.” He reaches out, puts a hand on Hancock’s head. Half as balance, as he steps into his boxers. “ It shouldn’t be a long job.”

In truth he doesn’t know what Bobbi is planning. It’s almost worrisome, with his head now full of a chem literally designed for clearer cognitive balance. But he can’t back out of it now, curiosity has got him thick in its grip.

“Well, you’ll have to tell me all about it when you’re here next.” Hancock moves to zip himself up, looking away from Haydn to focus on not getting his dick caught.

With Haydn finally dressed, sledgehammer nestled against his back, he turns and faces Hancock who still sits on the couch. “Sorry to dip, but I need some supplies. You’re probably busy the rest of the day anyway — I wouldn’t keep what’s-her-name waiting.”

“Farenheit,” Hancock supplies helpfully.

“Yeah, her.” Haydn smiles, hesitating for a moment. He crosses the space between them, sits on the edge of the coffee table across from Hancock. “If you’re free later, would you like a drink at The Third Rail?”

“That sounds like a plan. I need to pick your brain anyway about some of the states of the world outside Goodneighbor.”

“Why mine?” Haydn asks, brow raising.

“Because.” Hancock stands, hovering over him for a moment before reaching out to help Haydn up. “You’ve got a first hand view on how fucked the world is now, and I trust your eyes.”

Haydn blinks. “Well if that isn’t the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” he says, before he can stop himself. It’s mostly true.

Hancock laughs, a huff coming through his nose as he rolls his eyes. “Go on, I’ll see you at sundown.” 

Haydn turns to walk away and from behind him Hancock adds, “Oh, and send whoever’s been lingering out there in. I need to teach them a few things on respecting privacy.”


End file.
